


Marjory at the Chalet School

by LadyEleanor456



Category: Chalet School - Elinor M. Brent-Dyer, Lorna Hill, Marjorie Series - Lorna Hill
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyEleanor456/pseuds/LadyEleanor456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marjory and the clan join the Chalet School.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was week after our holiday at Horden Castle. Guy, the leader of our clan, had had to go to London with his father to meet some futile aunt, leaving the rest of us, myself, my twin brother Peter, Esme Harris and Toby Martin to await his return. We were playing tennis at the Harris's as it was too hot to ride the ponies, apart from Marjorie, who was also visiting some relatives.

"I wonder when Guy will get back," said Peter as he attempted to balance a tennis ball on the edge of his racket.

"Sometime today I think," replied Toby as he watched Esme disappear under a bush, "What are you doing?"

Esme re-appeared, a large smear of soil across one cheek, "I heard a noise," she said vaguely, "I though maybe a rabbit..."

"A rabbit!" scoffed Peter, "As if there would be a rabbit here, we're making too much noise."

"Tantivy! Tantivy! Tally ho!" Marjorie never arrived decently, she either erupted, exploded or bounced. She was on horseback, despite the heat and charged towards the tennis net. She gave Dulcie a cut with her switch and cleared the net in style. She reached us and pulled up so hard, that Dulcie practically sat on her haunches. "Guess what!" she cried.

"Guy's back?" cried Esme, sitting up eagerly.

"Like I care about that!" retorted Marjorie, tickling Dulcie with her whip causing her to buck.

"Really?" said a voice above our heads.

"Guy!" we all shrieked, apart from Marjorie,

"What are you doing up there?" I asked as Guy jumped down, looking as bronzed and lithe as an American Indian.

"Watching the tennis," he replied laconically, "And by the way Peter, that last ball was out, so Pan and Toby should have won the game." Peter went red.

"So Guy is here, so what!" cried Marjorie making Dulcie buck some more, "Don't you want to hear my news?"

"Go on Marjorie, tell us," replied Guy, "Before you fall off that horse."

"Sez you," responded Marjorie, "Anyway, Pan, Esme, school has shut down!"

"What?" we gasped.

"Yes! The headmistress has been left a fortune, she has shut the school and is going to live in the Bahamas!"

"Marjorie! You're making this up!"

"I am not!"

"Then where will we go to school?"

"I am going to a finishing school in Switzerland!" said Marjorie, "So are you Esme. I heard my mother and your mother talking about it on the telephone."

"What about me?" I demanded.

"I don't know," said Marjorie, spinning Dulcie around.

I felt a great sadness suddenly, I knew there was no way my parents could afford to send me to school in Switzerland. I saw Guy look at me in concern and so hurriedly asked "Where in Switzerland?"

"I don't know," said Marjorie again, "The Grunniting Platz or something,"

"You mean the Görnetz Platz, in the Oberland?" asked Guy in surprise. 

"That's the one!" said Marjorie, giving Dulcie a cut with her whip, "Dulcie is so fresh!" And showing no regard for the Harris's smooth tennis court, she charged across it, leapt the hedge and vanished from sight.

"That's odd," said Guy thoughtfully.

"What is," said Toby, as he attempted to restore the tennis court to its original smooth state.

"Well, there is a finishing school on the Görnetz Platz, but it doesn't take pupils of Marj's age, it takes older girls,"

"Then Marjorie has got it wrong?" I asked.

"Not exactly," said Guy, "But I think she may be going to go the Chalet School,"

"The Chalet School?" asked Esme.

"Yes replied Guy thoughtfully once more, "It is run by a cousin of my father's. We visited her there a few years ago."

"What's it like?" I asked, trying to show an interest.

"I think Marjorie will have an interesting time," grinned Guy.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter and I turned soberly into the gates of our house.  It wasn’t that we were sober minded as a rule.  Usually we were far from it.  Only it was enough to make you sober knowing that your friends were going to school in Switzerland and that you would not be.

 

“Look on the bright side,” said Peter, “At least you will still be able to see Guy, Toby and I.”

 

“Sez you,” I replied gloomily, “You will all be at school.”  
 

“And you will be able to ride Billy everyday,” added Peter, trying to ignore my gloom by being as optimistic as possible.

 

“Sez you,” I repeated as we walked into the house.  In the hall Mummy was waiting.

 

“Pan, I know you have heard the news,” she said sadly, “I am sorry, I wish we could send you to Switzerland but…”

 

“It’s ok Mummy,” I interrupted, “I understand.”

   
“Well, go and wash before dinner,” said Mummy, still looking sorry as she went to answer the telephone.  I didn’t know it at the time but that ‘phone call was going to make all the difference in the world.

   
“Pan! Pansy! Come here! Quickly!” called Mummy.

   
I charged out of the cloakroom, incidentally nearly sending Peter flying into the hall table. 

 

“That was Mr Charlton,” said Mummy.

 

“Guy’s father?”  I asked in surprise.

 

“Did you know that the head of the school in Switzerland was Mr Charlton’s cousin?”

 

“I think Guy mentioned something,” I said as I bent to help Peter untangle himself from the table.

 

“Well, this cousin, a Miss Annersley, has offered you a scholarship to the Chalet School!”

 

“Gosh!” I said in shock, and sat down on Peter’s legs.

 

“So you will be going to Switzerland with Esme and Marjorie after all!” said Peter, pushing me onto the floor and dusting himself off, “What’s for dinner?” he added moving to the dining room.

 

 

Esme and I were riding our ponies up the winding drive to Windyways, where Marjorie lived.  Esme’s pony, Willow, is inclined to be nervous, and found the hedges, which the Manner’s gardener had cut into futile shapes like peacocks very disturbing.  When Marjorie erupted into our path, Willow deposited Esme into a holly bush clipped into the shape of a monstrous pheasant.

 

“Gosh! Can you still not ride any better than that?” asked Marjorie contemptuously.

 

Esme scrambled out of the bush, leaving both her hair ribbons in the depths of the pheasant, she took no notice of Marjorie and instead caught Willow and re-mounted, trying to look as dignified as possible.

 

“You wouldn’t say that if Guy was here!” I retorted, fishing one of Esme’s ribbons out of the holly.

 

“Oh Guy Fawkes!” cried Marjorie, whirling her whip around her head, startling Willow once more, “Who cares about Guy? We are going to Switzerland!”

 

“And what about the ponies?” I pointed out.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” replied Marjorie carelessly, “Daddy is going to have them shipped out for us, that old hag Miss Annersley said we couldn’t, but once they are there, what can she do?”

 

“Marj, I’m not sure –“ I began, but was interrupted.

 

“Anyway,  Mummy has got our uniforms here for us to try on, and I must say they are gorgeous!”

 

My heart sank.  Marjorie is beautiful, and knows it, she would look gorgeous in a sack.  Esme looks pretty, when she remembers to wash her face and neck, and even then she looks like a forget-me-not. On the other hand, nobody could call me pretty, with my snub nose, freckles and ordinary brown hair.  I knew the uniform would look lovely on them, but not on me.

 

“What colour is it?” asked Esme, forgetting that she was on her dignity.

 

“Gentian blue,”

 

I sighed, blue was most defiantly not my colour, but I knew Esme would look more like a forget-me-not, than ever.   “Do you have the prospectus” I asked, mainly to change the subject.

 

“Oh that,” said Marjorie, giving Dulcie a cut with her whip to make her rear, “I didn’t bother looking at that, it will have been rubbish about flower arranging and deportment, I couldn’t be bothered with it!”

 

“Guy says –“ began Esme.

 

“Who cares about Guy?” yelled Marjorie, turning Dulcie round and charging towards the stables.

 

“Do you think Marj realises that we are going to an ordinary school, rather than a finishing school?” asked Esme as we followed decorously in Marjorie’s wake.

 

“Maybe if we show her the prospectus?” I suggested as I urged Billy into a trot.

 

“Um, maybe,” said Esme doubtfully.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is lifted from the Marjory books.

The great day finally arrived.  We all congregated at the Manners’ house after breakfast.  They had offered their car to take us into town to catch the train to London, where we would meet the school, and then catch the boat train to Paris, and then another train to the school in Switzerland.  It was a good thing, really, that we had arranged to go in the Manners’ car as it was a palatial six seater and there were quite a lot of us packed in there.  I felt a bit relieved that it wasn’t our Ford 8!  Mummy and Mrs Harris were squashed in the front with the chauffer.  Esme, Guy and Marjorie had the back seat, while Peter, Toby and I sat on the little tip-up seats facing them.  There was oceans of room, which just shows you what a large car it was.

 

“Gosh!” said Marjorie, standing up and putting her head through the sunshine roof, “Just think, this time tomorrow we be in Switzerland, arranging flowers and learning how to put make up on properly!”

 

Guy raised his eyebrows at that comment, but forbore to retaliate, thus ruining Marjorie’s plan.  He looked over at me, “Did Marjorie ever read the prospectus?”

 

“No,” I replied.

 

“And neither did we,” said Esme, “Marj burnt it before we got a chance!”

 

“What a futile thing to do, typical woman,” scoffed Peter.  Esme and I turned on him and began pummelling him until he begged for mercy.

 

“Serves you right old chap,” laughed Toby, as Peter rolled off the seat and onto the floor.

 

“We’re here!” came a shriek from the sunshine roof, and Marjorie tumbled back into the car, knocking Peter down as he attempted to get back up, “Tantivy! Tantivy! Tally ho! Switzerland here we come!”

 

In no time we were preparing to board the train for London.  Mummy and Mrs Harris were fussing about things like trunks and tickets, and left us to say out goodbyes to each other.

 

“Behave yourself Marjorie!” said Guy, there was a glint in his eye that I couldn’t identify, “I don’t think your new headmistress will be as easy to sweet talk as your old one, remember the matter of the ponies!”

 

“Old hag,” muttered Marjorie as she fished in her bag for a comb to do her hair, “Telling Daddy she would send the ponies back at his expense.”

 

“Um, we will be up a mountain,” I said for what felt like the 50th time.

 

Guy turned to Esme and I, “There is some excellent climbing to be had in Switzerland,” he grinned, “You never know, you may see me at some point!”

 

“Oh Guy!” said Esme, her face glowing, “Will they let you into a girls school?”

 

“I won’t be going to the school you silly goose,” replied Guy, “I will be climbing the mountain above it.”

 

“Won’t that be dangerous?” asked Esme, her face going white.

 

“A bit, mountain lions, crevices, avalanches, the usual” said Guy.

 

“He’s teasing you,” said Toby.

 

“Oh!” Esme turned her little nose into the air and made to step into the carriage.  Unfortunately her nose was raised so high she missed the step and sprawled inelegantly on the floor of the carriage.  Guy helped her up, “Esme you donkey, can’t you tell when I am teasing you yet?”

 

“First a goose, then a donkey, are you going to call me a sheep next?” snapped Esme.

 

“You’re not going to fight me on your last day in England?” asked Guy sternly, although the twinkle was back in his eye.  Esme’s eyes filled with tears.  A whistle blew. Mummy and Mrs Harris jumped out of the compartment and Guy slammed the door.  Marjorie wound down the window and we all leant out to wave goodbye.  A whistle blew again, there was a blast of steam and we were off to Switzerland at last!


	4. Chapter 4

We reached London finally after a fairly tame journey.  Minor incidents like an argument with Marjorie about her permed hair, and Esme losing both her hair ribbons out of the window as she released a moth she had found in the carriage were nothing to be worried about.  There was a bit of a scramble to find the platform for the school train, and by the time we had even Marjorie did not look her perfect self.  Esme had a large smudge across her nose, and her hair was wild, and I had lost my hat, trodden on it, and so found it again.  It was a little battered.  Marjorie had deliberately left hers on the train which was now heading merrily back to Northumberland.  We stopped a short distance away from the school and frankly stared.

 

“They are so quiet…” said Marjorie.

 

“And tidy,” said Esme, smearing the mark further across her face as she attempted to remove it.

 

“Um, and pretty,” I added, thinking how my snub nose would look even snubbier next to some of the girls there.

 

“They are not that pretty,” said Marjorie, tossing her hair.  This brought us to the attention of one of the bigger girls, who headed in our direction.

 

“Hello! New girls?” she asked, eyeing Esme’s face, “For the Chalet School?”

 

“Chalet School?” replied Marjorie, “Is that what you call a finishing school in Switzerland?”

 

“Finishing school? Oh, you mean St Mildreds, that’s the finishing branch. No, you girls will be for the school proper.”

 

“No,” said Marjorie firmly, “We are going to a finishing school, on the Grunting Platz,”

 

“Görnetz Platz,” said the girl, frowning at Marjorie’s rude tone of voice.

 

“Is there a problem?” asked another voice, belonging to a plump and cheerful mistress, “New girls?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” I replied before Marjorie could start in about finishing schools again.

 

“Pansy Pierce, Esme Harris and Marjorie Manners?” she asked as she consulted a list in her hand.

 

“Um, yes, um usually I am called Pan” I replied.

 

“Hello Pan, my name is Miss Wilmot, and you are?” she turned to Esme.

 

“Esme Harris,” replied Esme, accepting the hanky Miss Wilmot gave her with a confused air.

 

“For you face,” smiled Miss Wilmot, “Which means you must be Marjorie Manners.”

 

“I’m afraid there has been a mistake,” said Marjorie in her most beguiling manner, “We are meant to be going to a finishing school.”

 

“No mistake,” said Miss Wilmot as she began to guide us to the rest of the school and so onto the train.

 

“Gosh,” said Esme, as we settled down in the carriage, “It feels like we have been on trains all day.  Where’s Marjorie?”

 

I looked round, “She was right behind me a minute ago.”

 

Suddenly the door to the carriage burst open and a furious Marjorie was propelled in by Miss Wilmot, “What on earth do you think you were doing?” she asked.

 

“I just wanted some chocolate,” said Marjorie sulkily.

 

“You were talking to a young man!” said Miss Wilmot.

 

“The chocolate machine only takes pennies,” answered Marjorie.

 

“What has that to do with it?” asked Miss Wilmot, as the train began to move off.

 

“I only had a sixpence, so I had to stop several people and ask them for change.  That awfully nice young man gave me six pennies, and then simply wouldn’t take my sixpence.”

 

“But Marjorie, you realise you shouldn’t talk to strangers, particularly strange young men!”

 

“I admit he was not normally the type of young man I would associate with,” said Marjorie confidingly.

 

“But you weren’t above taking his money!” replied Miss Wilmot, sounding an awful lot like Guy suddenly.

 

Marjorie just shrugged.

 

“If this happens again Marjorie, there will be severe consequences.”  Then, changing the subject, Miss Wilmot said, “I would like to introduce you to your sheepdogs!”

 

Esme looked up eagerly, “We are getting sheepdogs?” she asked, excitement written all over her face.

 

“Yes,” Miss Wilmot opened the compartment door, “Meet Mary-Lou, Vi Lucy and Barbara Chester.”

 

“But where are the sheepdogs?” asked Esme.

 

“We are,” said Mary-Lou sitting down and smiling in a friendly manner.

 

“Well if the cap fits,” said Marjorie rudely.

 

The one called Vi looked sharply at her, but obviously decided not say anything.

 

“You mean we are not getting actual sheepdogs?” asked Esme in disappointment.

 

“No, not actual real sheepdogs,” replied Mary-Lou, “Just us!”

 

“I’m Pan Pierce,” I butted in quickly before either Marjorie or Esme could say anything else, “These are Esme Harris and Marjorie Manners.”

 

“Rather a good joke on the part of fate – the surname I mean,” said Vi.

 

Marjorie glared at her, and the carriage fell silent.  It was all rather awkward. Marjorie got up and walked casually to the window,  “So, tell us about this footling school then,” she said, trapping a fly that was doing a war-dance on the window pane, and making it buzz loudly.

 

“The Chalet School is the best school in the world!” enthused Mary-Lou.

 

“Really?” said Marjorie, her voice betraying her total lack of interest, “I suppose you do stupid lessons, like flower arranging.”

 

“No,” said Mary-Lou, looking a little surprised.

 

“What are the lessons like?” I asked hurriedly, whilst Esme stared worriedly at Marjorie’s hand, which still contained the fly.

 

“Very interesting,” said the girl called Barbara quickly, “Although some people find the languages thing a little difficult.”

 

“Funny how much row a fly can make,” remarked Marjorie thoughtfully, opening her hand a little and shutting it again quickly so as to shut off the escape of the prisoner.

 

“Will you stop doing that!” shouted Esme in fury.

 

“Doing what? Oh, making it buzz you mean? No I won’t! It’s not your fly.”

 

“What languages thing?” I said trying to distract Esme before she could hurl herself on Marjorie.

 

“Well, the lessons and days having different languages,” replied Barbara.

 

“I don’t understand,” I replied.

 

“On Mondays we speak nothing but French, and do our lessons in that language, Tuesdays we do the same but in German, Wednesdays we speak English, Thursdays French again, German on Fridays and English on Saturday.”

 

Marjorie was so surprised at this pronouncement that she opened her hand and the fly escaped.  It danced madly up the window on its head, and was out of her reach in a trice.  Esme’s face was filled with relief.

 

“What did you say?” demanded Marjorie.

 

“Can’t you understand plain English?” Vi asked her.  It was clear Marjorie and Vi were not going to get on.  In fact, in an odd way Vi reminded me of Guy.  Not in looks, for Vi was a very pretty, slightly built girl with golden brown curls, a perfect complexion and purple-blue eyes with dark brows, and Guy reminded me of a tall haughty red Indian, but there was a strength of character there, which told me that, like Guy, Vi would not be pushed around by Marjorie.

 

“It’s all in the prospectus,” said Mary-Lou calmly.

 

“That thing? I burnt it!” responded Marjorie disdainfully.

 

“Why?” asked Vi.

 

“A lot of beastly rot about rules and exam results, I couldn’t be bothered with it,”

 

“Everything is all explained in the prospectus, if you had read it rather than burning it, you would know,” retorted Vi.

 

Luckily Esme suddenly provided a distraction by diving under the seat after the fly.  She grabbed my already battered hat by the brim, trapped the fly with it and then released it out of the window.  Unfortunately she also released my hat, and one of her ribbons.

 

“Esme! My hat!”

 

We all rushed to the window, but my hat was out of sight.

 

“What a fuss about nothing,” said Marjorie, “Who cares about a futile hat anyway?”

 

“Marjorie, you know that hat was expensive, my parents can’t…” I tailed off, not wishing to go into my parent’s financial situation.

 

“Well if you care that much,” said Marjorie, and she reached up and pulled the communication cord.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a shriek as the train slammed on the brakes, there was the sound of crashing, and screams came from some of the other carriages.  The train juddered to a halt.  We stared at Marjorie in shock.

 

“What were you thinking?” demanded Mary-Lou.

 

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, “Pan wants her hat back,” she said, “If you don’t hurry up, and fetch it, it will be gone forever!”  I was literally rooted to the floor in horror, I couldn’t have moved, even if someone had been coming at me ferociously waving a riding crop.  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she added as I didn’t move.  She opened the door, leapt gracefully out, and charged up the track.

 

“Is she always like that?” asked Vi.

 

“I’m afraid so,” I replied sadly, “Only Guy can really control her, and not always then.”

 

Esme glared at me, “Guy can control Marjorie!” she snapped angrily, as she did when ever anyone dared to suggest her beloved Guy was less than perfect “Guy is marvellous!”

 

Suddenly the carriage door flew open, and the train guard and Miss Wilmot entered, their eyes went straight to the dangling communication cord.

 

“Who pulled that cord?” demanded Miss Wilmot.

 

We were silent, none of us really wanted to betray Marjorie, despite her awfulness and the position she had left us in.  Esme burst into tears, and the rest of us stared at the floor.

 

“Well?” demanded Miss Wilmot icily.

 

Luckily for us at that moment Marjorie reappeared, she threw my hat in through the door.  It landed at Miss Wilmot’s feet.  It did not look any better for the treatment it had received.  “Give me your hand Pan! I can’t get back in!”

 

“Go on,” said Miss Wilmot sounding, if possible, even more icy than before.  I hauled Marjorie in, non too gently I must admit.

 

“There’s no need to pull my arm out of it’s socket!” declared Marjorie, “Where’s my comb, I need to sort my hair out.”

 

“Marjorie, did you pull the communication cord?” demanded Miss Wilmot.

 

“What?” said Marjorie who was rummaging in her hand luggage, “Oh, that.  Yes I did. Why?”

 

“I think that is my question,” Miss Wilmot could not have sounded any more forbidding if she tried.  Even Guy would have been cowed by her tones.

 

“Why did I pull it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Esme threw Pan’s hat out of the window,” she said calmly.

 

Miss Wilmot turned her forbidding stare on Esme, but clearly realised that there would be no point questioning her until she had stopped crying. “Be that as it may, you should not have pulled the cord,” she said turning back to Marjorie.

 

Marjorie just shrugged her shoulders, and began to do her hair.

 

Miss Wilmot glared round at all of us,  “I will deal with you properly when we reach the school, what Miss Annersley will say I don’t know.  Until then, non of you are to speak.”

 

Mary-Lou opened her mouth to protest, but when she met Miss Wilmot’s eye, she shut it quickly.

 

“Do you understand me Marjorie?  You are not to speak to the others, and they may not speak to you.”

 

“I understand,” said Marjorie sweetly.  Miss Wilmot turned and left the compartment, followed by the guard, “Futile old hag,” said Marjorie.

 

“You’re not to speak,” said Mary-Lou shortly.  It was clear that she and her other sheepdogs were furious with Marjorie.

 

“Why not?” said Marjorie in her most irritating tones.

 

“You heard Miss Wilmot,” said Vi, “We are on our honour not to speak,”

 

“Bosh!” burst Marjorie, “She’s not here now, she’ll never know.”

 

“Stop it Marjorie!” yelled Esme.

 

“Who’s talking now?” said Marjorie as a furious Miss Wilmot arrived back in our carriage.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part with the make up is copied from 'Stolen Holiday'.

It was not the best start to life at the Chalet school.  We arrived at the Platz and were marched straight to the Head Mistress.  As Guy had predicted Marjorie was unable to sweet talk Miss Annersley, and even she was subdued for the first few days.  However, being Marjorie, she soon bounced back, and with a vengeance!  It happened in our second week.  We woke up on Saturday morning to discover it was raining, and not just ordinary rain, but a downpour.  It reminded me of when we were camping at Horden Castle and Guy had pitched the tent underneath a gargoyle.  When the rain started, the gargoyle did it’s job, and the boys were flooded out.  I stared gloomily out of the window.  On a day like this at home, we might have met in Guy’s tackroom and fried home cured bacon and planned gymkhanas or our next camp.  Somehow I knew this wouldn’t happen here!  However, my two weeks at the Chalet School had not been boring, so I knew there would no doubt be something inventive planned, and I was not wrong.

 

“Prefect’s Evening tonight!” said Vi gleefully when we met.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Esme, a worried expression on her face.  She had been fined by one of the prefects the other day for leaving her ribbons on the floor.  We tried to explain that Esme was always losing her ribbons, and there was nothing we could do to stop it, but to no avail.  Esme was therefore wary of the prefects.

 

“The Prefects get together and entertain us for the evening,” replied Vi with a grin, she knew about Esme’s run in with Ruth Wilson.

 

“What kind of things do they do?” I asked.

 

“It depends, sometimes we play paper games, sometimes they put on a play, or scenes from books and we have to guess where they are from, dancing perhaps.”

 

“It sounds fun,” I replied happily, and even Esme had lost her worried expression.

 

“Sounds a load of rubbish to me,” said Marjorie.

 

Vi gritted her teeth, and smiled, “Why not try it before dismissing it?”

 

“I don’t want anything to do with those beastly Prefects.” Like Esme, Marjorie had also had a run in with the Prefects.  It had been over her habit of not getting up right away when the bell went.  She was impossible in the mornings, and as a result was frequently late for Frühstück (as breakfast was called here).  Eventually her frustrated dormitory prefect had pulled her bed clothes off her the minute the bell went, every day for five days until Marjorie got the message, and began to get up. 

 

“Slang Marjorie?” said an austere voice.  Marjorie spun round, Miss Annersley stood there, “Pay a slang fine, and remember, the word beastly is used only in relation to animals.”  Marjorie shrugged her shoulders and vanished.  “What are you discussing so eagerly?” asked Miss Annersley, as she watched Marjorie head off in the direction of the fine box.

 

“The Prefect’s Evening,” replied Vi,  “Do you know what they are planning for us?”

 

“I believe it is dancing,” answered Miss Annersley.  The bell rang, “You had better go and change into you velveteens.”

 

We rushed off to our dormitories, Marjorie was already there.  “You got here quickly,” said Vi.  Marjorie ignored her and pulled the curtains around her cubey shut.  We rushed through getting changed, and when our prefect called us we were all ready, including Marjorie for a wonder.  I thought there was something different about her, but I couldn’t think for a moment what it was.  She looked extraordinarily pretty; her cheeks glowed, her eyes seemed even more bigger and melting than ever, her eyelashes were positively sweeping.  It wasn’t until we got out onto the landing that I realised what it was.

 

“Marjorie!” I shrieked, “You’re made up!”

 

I wasn’t prepared for the effects of my words on the company. Esme and Vi stood stock still with their mouths open, as though they had never seen face powder and lipstick in their lives before.  As if by magic Matron appeared.  She pounced on Marjorie like a cat on a mouse and swung her round to face the light.  Then, holding her fast, Matron looked her up and down – from darkened eyelashes to varnished finger nails.

“Make up?” she said contemptuously, “I never thought I would see a child of 14 with a made up face.  You look fit for nothing but the circus! Go and wash it off at once!”

 

Whether Marjorie resented Matron’s dictatorial tone, or whether she realised the make up improved her, as it certainly did, despite what Matron said, I don’t know.  But she twisted herself free and said defiantly:  “Mind your own business!  I made up to please myself, thank you, and I’ll jolly well stay made up!”

 

“You will not! When you are grown up you can paint your face, but in this school we have no girls with painted faces, now go and wash it off!”

 

Still Marjorie didn’t move.

 

“For the last time, will you do what I ask?”

 

“No I won’t!” was Marjorie’s answer.

 

“Very well.  Vi, go and fetch me the carbolic soap and a sponge from my room.”

 

Vi was back within moments.  Matron advanced upon Marjorie, who stared at her in amazement.  Then she turned to escape, but Matron caught her neatly by the wrists.  In just two seconds she had her across her knees and was giving Marjorie’s face the most thorough wash it had received in it’s sweet young life.

 

We stood dumbfounded, trying not to laugh.  Marjorie, gasping and furious, with water and soap and tears as well, I suspect, streaming down her face, was a comical spectacle.  But, of course, we realised that it wasn’t so funny for Marjorie, so we tried hard not to laugh.

 

After a good scrub, Matron was satisfied at last.  Poor Marjorie’s face was fairly shining with soap and water.  The brilliant lipstick was no more; the eye shadow had

vanished; there was a terrific stink of carbolic soap in the air, instead of seductive wafts of Jungle Night perfume. She looked, no longer like an American film star, but merely Marjorie Manners of Lower IVB.

 

“Go and get the make up from your dormitory and bring it here,” said Matron as she released her captive.  She looked round at us, “You are not to talk about this, go straight to the hall for the prefects evening.” We left rapidly.  As I looked back, I saw Marjorie emerge from the dorm holding her make up.  We did not see her again that evening.

 

The evening was good fun, the Prefects had arranged dances, as Miss Annerlsey had suggested, as well as tea.  There were prizes too, for the best dancers, and a ‘boobie’ prize which Esme won in virtue of losing her ribbons on three separate occasions.  Even Miss Annerlsey’s patent ribbon tying did not work, and as usual the ribbons were lost in the melee of the dancing.  One was found under the piano, but the other one got caught around Ruth Wilson’s ankle, sending her crashing to the ground!  Ruth was furious, but as Miss Annersley herself had tied the ribbons there was little she could do, but I felt Esme had blotted her copy book as far as that Prefect was concerned.  Esme went off to bed looking like a dishevelled cornflower, whilst Ruth Wilson glowered after her.

 

That night, when we were in bed, and Marjorie thought we were all asleep, I could hear her tossing about in her bed and sobbing.  Several times I heard her exclaim “Beast! Beast!” and she beat her pillows as if they were Matron.  Poor Marjorie, her pride was badly hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

One of the things we found very difficult to get used to at the Chalet School were the breakfasts.  At home, and when we were camping with Guy, Peter and Toby we would buy some homecured bacon from a local farmer, some freshly laid eggs and a freshly baked loaf.  We would cook the bacon and eggs ourselves, and then fry the bread in the fat.  It was delicious and so filling.  The shock that first morning, when we sat down to Frühstück (as they called it) and were faced with bread twists, jam and very milky coffee.  Both Esme and myself loath milky coffee, and Marjorie wasn’t too keen either.  I leant forwards and asked Mary-Lou where the bacon and eggs were, she merely laughed and replied “All new girls ask that!  Here we follow the food of the area we live in!”

 

“I see,” I replied slowly, I was about to ask another question when I was distracted by Marjorie having an argument with the prefect at our table about the coffee.

 

“Why should I drink it?” Marjorie was demanding, she shoved her cup back at the prefect, spilling some on the table as she did.

 

“Don’t be silly,” said the prefect firmly, but to no avail.

 

“I’m not being silly,” replied Marjorie, “I’m not going to drink this, it’s foul.”

 

Our table fell silent, as did the ones next to it.

 

I looked down at my own mug, I had taken a few half hearted sips, but nothing more, I noticed Esme had done the same.

 

“Drink your coffee,” repeated the prefect, “Or I will have to fetch Matron.”

 

“Fetch her if you must,” replied Marjorie.

 

Matron arrived promptly.  She looked at Marjorie with a glare which would have wilted Esme and myself.  “Stop being a baby and drink your coffee, or shall I have to hold your nose and make you?” she asked.

 

“You will have to make me!” declared Marjorie.  Even Matron looked a bit startled.

 

“Is there a problem?” asked a voice.  In the excitement, none of us noticed the arrival of Miss Annersley.

 

“Marjorie is refusing to drink her coffee,” responded Matron.

 

“Well Marjorie, why not?”

 

“I don’t want to, it’s foul,” came Marjorie’s answer.

 

“It is very simple Marjorie, you will sit here until you do,” said Miss Annersley sternly.

 

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders, “Very well,” she said.  She held out for two hours before finally admitting defeat!

 

That was at the beginning of term, and even now, two weeks in we were still not used to the breakfasts.  However I should have realised that Marjorie was not going to let the lack of bacon and eggs go by without a fight!

 

It happened on our third Saturday morning at the Chalet School.  Marjorie awoke in the foulest of moods.  Nothing was right for her, she didn’t like getting up, she didn’t like her place in the bathroom rota and most of all she did not like the futile breakfasts we were forced to eat.  She collared me just after Miss Annersley had announced that as the weather was good we would all be going on a good long ramble.

 

“Pan!” she hissed, “I have an idea!  Ask the old hag if we are allowed to take any money on this ramble!”

 

I couldn’t see where Marjorie would be going with this, so I saw no harm in asking.  Marjorie’s smile of satisfaction was worrying.  Esme and I exchanged glances, but as we were now out in the corridors all she could do was shrug.  We hurried upstairs to change.

 

“Where are we going?” I asked Mary-Lou the minute we were in the dormitory.

 

“Malhausen,” replied Mary-Lou, “It’s on the next shelf.  There is a marvellous Gasthaus there, which sells some gorgeous Swiss woodcarvings.”

 

“And some delicious cakes!” added Vi,

 

“Squashy ones?” asked Esme eagerly.  Esme has a real passion for squashy cakes.

 

“The squashiest!” replied Barbara.  Esme beamed happily.

 

“Anything else?” I asked.

 

“Not really,” replied Mary-Lou.  I wondered what Marjorie had in mind.

 

We set off on the walk.  It was a lovely day, one which would have been even better if we had the ponies.  I knew Marjorie and Esme felt the same way.  I felt surge of dislike for Miss Annersley for not allowing Marjorie’s father to ship the ponies out for us.  After an hours walk we finally arrived at the little mountain village of Malhausen.  It was a beautiful little village, perched on the edge of a mountain, and when we entered the Gasthaus I finally realised what Marjorie was after.

 

“There!” she pointed at something very familiar hanging from a hook at the far end of the room.

 

“Home cured bacon!” cried Esme.

 

“As near as dammit!” said Marjorie triumphantly.

 

“Marjorie! Guy would spank you if he heard you say that!” gasped Esme.

 

“Guy’s not here!” replied Marjorie.  She indicated to the shoplady that she wanted the bacon slicing and it was done before anyone noticed.

 

“What do we do with it when we get it back to school?” whispered Esme.

 

“Give it to that cook woman, whats her name, Helga?” said Marjorie.

 

“Karen,” I  replied, “If you are going to be asking her favours I think you should get her name right.”

 

“How are we getting it back to school?” asked Esme.  Marjorie looked at my hat.

 

“No!” I said.

 

“Why not?” asked Marjorie.

 

“I’m not spending the rest of the day with a haunch of bacon on my head!” I said firmly.

 

“But Pan,” thus Marjorie at her most beguiling, “Don’t you want bacon for breakfast?”

 

I met Esme’s eyes.  There was something pleading there.

 

“Oh hand it over,” I said, taking the bacon, shoving it in my hat and ramming the offending article firmly onto my head.


	8. Chapter 8

I must say I did not enjoy the walk home.  The sun was beating down and I was very aware of the bacon in my hat.  I think Mary-Lou was aware as well because she kept sniffing the air suspiciously.

 

“What on earth is the matter with you?” asked Vi, as Mary-Lou gave a mammoth sniff, “Keep that up and Matey will be on your case like a dose of salts!”  There was no more sniffing from Mary-Lou after that, thank goodness.  To tell the truth I had a feeling Vi was aware what was under my hat. She had been quite close when Marjorie bought the bacon, and so might have over heard.

 

We reached the school finally.  I was quite worried about what I was going to do with my hat when we reached the splasheries, but I had reckoned without Marjorie.  As we entered the school she seized my hat, and the bacon, and hared up the main staircase to the dorm.  The main staircase was strictly forbidden to all but staff and prefects, but Marjorie got away with it.  She sauntered back via the back stairs and gave me a wink.  

 

“What are you planning?” asked Vi the minute we were alone.

 

I went red, “Nothing,” I replied.

 

“What’s the bacon for?” asked Vi with a grin.

 

“It’s Marjorie’s idea,” I wailed.

 

“You surprise me!” replied Vi.  I totally missed the sarcastic inflection in her voice.

 

“Really?” I thought you knew Marjorie by now – oh, you were being sarcastic.”

 

“So what mischief can Marjorie do with bacon?”

 

Suddenly Marjorie erupted round the corner, “Come on Pan! It’s time to go and beard the monster in the den! Oh –“ she stopped suddenly when she spotted Vi, “Oh Pan! You havn’t gone and told her?”

 

“No, she hasn’t,” replied Vi, “But I think you had better.”

 

Marjorie glared at Vi and Vi looked imperturbably back, “Is it for the breakfasts?” asked Vi with a sudden flash of insight.

 

“Yes, I though if we presented Helga –“

 

“Karen,” I interjected.

 

“Ok, Karen then, I thought if we presented Karen with some bacon she might cook that for as rather than those revolting rolls and jam!”

 

“I thought as much,” grinned Vi, “Count me in!”

 

 “Gosh! Tally ho!” cried Marjorie, she fished in her blouse and pulled out the bacon,  “Let’s go find Helga!”  She charged off, Vi and I following in her turbulent wake.  We reached the kitchen door just after Marjorie, who opened it and ushered us in.  Unfortunately Esme had beaten us to it.

 

“How would you like to be carried in someone’s mouth?” Esme was demanding.  “Let alone played with!”

 

We stopped short and tried not to laugh.  Esme had got poor Karen backed into a corner, between a cooker and a wall, and was brandishing the dead body of a mouse in front of her.  The school cat was sitting on the floor with a very expectant look on her face.

 

“How could you?” repeated Esme sternly, as Karen, the terror of the kitchen staff looked more and more flustered.

 

“You’ve no business to go letting that cat in the pantry to catch mice!” Esme said to her.

 

The cat was a new acquisition of Karen’s, brought in to keep the mouse population down.  But alas! The cat – it’s name was Minette, by the way  - wasn’t at all a subtle cat; she actually had the temerity to play with her victim under Esme’s nose.

 

“Possibly not the right time to raise the issue of bacon,” I murmured.

 

“If we back out slowly, they might not notice us,” suggested Vi.  But it was too late. Karen got over her shock at being attacked by Esme.  The flow of German coming from her mouth stunned us all. She snatched the mouse from Esme’s hand, as the cat fled to the top of a cupboard, and chased us out of the kitchen.  We didn’t stop running until we had reached the common room.

 

“Esme, you donkey!” gasped Marjorie, “What did you have to go and do that for?”

 

“What?” shrieked Esme, “That poor mouse!”

 

“It was just a mouse,” said Marjorie.

 

“You beast!” yelled Esme, “How dare you! I bet you would enjoy watching it die!  Just like you enjoy hunting!  Beast! Beast! Beast!” And Esme threw herself on Marjorie and began to pummel her furiously.  Suddenly she stopped, “What’s that?”

 

“The bacon,” replied Marjorie, pulling the battered packet out of her blouse.

 

“Are we going to cook it?” asked Esme eagerly, her anger at Marjorie forgotten in an instant.

 

“How? We were going to ask Helga –“

 

“Karen,” I interjected once more.

 

“But now you have upset her,” said Marjorie blithely ignoring me, “we can’t.”

 

“What’s wrong with the stove?” asked Esme pointing to where the fire was burning merrily,  “What time are they lit in the morning?”

 

“About five I think,” answered Vi.

 

“Rightio,” said Marjorie, “Five it is.”

 

“What are you going to do with the bacon in the meantime?” I asked.

 

Marjorie grinned, “Where have you put your hat?”


	9. Chapter 9

If Guy were here he would have told us that a plan to fry bacon on the stove at five in the morning was bound to fail.  Buy Guy wasn’t here, so the plan went ahead.

 

“What about a frying pan?” hissed Esme as we made our way to bed that night.

 

“Frying pan?” said Marjorie, as if she had never heard of the word.

 

“For cooking the bacon in,” replied Esme patiently.

 

“Helga will have one,” answered Marjorie.

 

“Karen,” I interjected wearily, “And after the encounter with Esme today, I doubt she will be too keen to lend us on.”

 

Marjorie shrugged gracefully, “The we will just have to borrow one.  Vi can do that as she has been here the longest.”

 

Vi looked a little startled at this pronouncement, but she was beginning to understand Marjorie, and also she wanted a share of the bacon, so she accepted Marjorie’s diktat, “Who’s going to wake us at five?” was all she said in reply.

 

“I will,” said Marjorie, “I brought my super new alarm clock with me from England.”

 

“The why havn’t you been using it, and saving the prefects all that trouble with you in the morning?” demanded Vi.

 

“Use it for something futile like getting up for school?” said Marjorie scornfully, “Sez you!”

 

“You can imagine,” I wrote to Guy later, “it was a complete disaster.  First Marjorie’s ‘super’ new alarm clock failed to go off.  We had set it for four o’clock to give Vi time to pop to the kitchen to borrow the frying pan.  Marj claimed it didn’t work, but we think she slept through it, you know Marjorie!  So Vi didn’t get to the kitchen until nearly five o’clock, and was almost nabbed by Helga, but managed to get away just in time.  The rest of us were waiting in the common room.  The stove didn’t seem very hot, you see Guy, we hadn’t realised that in the evening the stove was so hot because it had been burning all day.  Anyway, by the time Vi arrived with the frying pan, it was barely hot enough to heat water.  We waited an age, and by a quarter to six it was just hot enough.  The bacon was frying up nicely when disaster struck!  The door opened and in walked Matron, sniffing like an eager bloodhound.  The old hag confiscated all our lovely bacon and packed us off to Miss Annersley.  The upshot of it is we have to miss the next three evenings (‘No loss there’ says Marjorie) and spend them sewing with Matron, our pocket money is confiscated until the end of term, apart from necessaries like church collections and fines.  We also have to apologies to Helga in sackcloth and ashes for making free with her frying pan.  It is worse for Vi.  Although she isn’t a member of the ‘founding family’ she might as well be, for her mother is good friends with the sister of ‘Madame’ as they call the first headmistress here.  She received a furious letter from her mother, and one from her Aunt Joey (Madame’s sister).  Incidentally next Saturday we are going to meet this Aunt Joey.  She always has the new girls over to tea, but hasn’t been able to see us as she has been too busy.  For some reasons they haven’t cancelled this expedition for us.  Love Pan.”

 

On the Friday we were approached by Mary-Lou. She seemed to have been steering clear of us after the bacon incident, but now she appeared determined to be friendly.  “I understand Auntie Joey has invited you to tea on Sunday,” she said cheerfully.

 

“Gosh, is she your Auntie too?” said Esme in surprise.

 

“Not really, she is a brevet Aunt,” replied Mary-Lou.

 

“Is there anyone in this school she is actually related to?” demanded Marjorie.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, she appears to be everybody’s Aunt, but not actually related to them in reality,” said Marjorie.

 

“But that’s Aunt Joey!” enthused Mary-Lou.

 

We looked at each other, Marjorie gave one of her elegant shrugs.  “Well, I don’t want her as my aunt, I already have too many of those futile beings to be bothered with one who isn’t actually related to me.”

 

Mary-Lou looked shocked, “But Auntie Joey is one of the foundation stones of the school!”

 

“And?”

 

“Everyone loves her!”

 

“I’ll defer judgement until I actually meet her!” was Marjorie’s response.

 

“Havn’t you heard of her?” asked Mary-Lou.

 

“Yes,” I replied, “Mrs Josephine Maynard, mother of the triplets, one of the foundation stones of the school.”

 

“Surely you have read her books?”

 

We looked at each other once more, “Books?” asked Esme.

 

“Yes! Books!  She’s Josephine M Bettany, you must have heard of her!”

 

“Fraid not!” said Marjorie cheekily.

 

“You havn’t?” the wind seemed to have been taken completely out of Mary-Lou’s sails, “What did you do in your free time at home?”

 

“Rode the ponies, went camping with Guy, Peter and Toby,” said Esme dreamily.

 

“Boys?” said Mary-Lou.

 

“No, dolphins,” interjected Marjorie,

 

“Of course they are boys,” said Esme, “Peter is Pan’s twin brother, Toby is a member of the clan and Guy is our leader.  Guy is marvellous, he can do anything, ride ponies, swim like a fish, and he is so strong.  He once lifted me from my pony onto his and won me a silver cup at a gymkhana!”

 

“But you didn’t read Aunt Joey’s books?”

 

“Are they about ponies?” asked Esme.

 

“No, some of them are historical, and some are school stories,”

 

“Hold on,” I said, a memory was surfacing, “Didn’t she write something about a girl called Tessie -?”

 

“Tessa in Tyrol!” exclaimed Mary-Lou, “I knew you would have read some.”

 

I looked a bit sheepish, “I didn’t actually finish it,” I said, “Some ghastly Aunt gave it too me for a birthday, she said I spend too much time with Billy – my pony – and needed to read more.  I think I gave it to you Esme,”

 

Esme looked blank, “Did you?”

 

“Yes!” cried Marjorie triumphantly! “I remember that book, you used it to fish a dying bird out of the tarn behind the Peel House above Garside, and dropped it in!  It was so damaged we put it on the campfire and used it as fuel!”


	10. Chapter 10

We were allowed to take a friend to tea with Mrs Maynard, I chose Vi Lucy.  I liked her enormously as did Esme, and we were planning on asking Guy if we could make her an honoury member of the clan.  Esme had asked Barbara Chester, but so far Marjorie hadn’t asked anyone. 

 

“But of course you are going to ask Mary-Lou!” said Josette Russell to Marjorie Saturday afternoon.

 

“I hadn’t planned to,” said Marjorie carelessly, “And I don’t really see what business it is of yours,”

 

“But you must ask Mary-Lou!” cried Lesley Malcom, “She has been doing sheepdog for you, so it’s only fair!”

 

Marjorie stared at her, “From what I understand she gets to see her ‘Auntie’ Joey anytime she asks, if she wants to see her this Sunday, then she can ask Miss Annersley.  It is bad enough having to give up my Sunday to go to church and meet some ghastly female author, but to also spend extra time with that bossy, interfering girl just because you lot think it’s fair –“

 

There was a horrified silence.

 

“So I’ll invite who I damn well like,” continued Marjorie.

 

“Marjorie!” I exclaimed.  Not that Marjorie took any notice.

 

“And just who are you planning on inviting then?” asked Prunella Davidson, “Because I can assure you that none of us will accept an invitation from you.”

 

“I’m not planning on asking anyone,” said Marjorie, “Because I am not planning on going!”

 

“Not going to Auntie Joey’s?” gasped Josette in the silence which followed that surprising statement, “Everyone goes to Auntie Joey’s!”

 

“Is she actually your aunt?” said Marjorie.

 

 “Yes,” replied Josette in surprise.

 

“Amazing!” replied Marjorie, “Someone who is actually related to her.”

 

“Marjorie, you have to go,” I said.

 

“I don’t have to do anything,” said Marjorie grandly, “Show me where it says in the rules that I have to go!”

 

I tried appealing to her sense of honour, “For Vi’s sake you have to go.” I should have realised that this was a futile attempt.  Marjorie had no sense of honour.  She merely ignored me, and continued to glare at Josette.  It looked like it was about to come to blows when the door opened and in breezed Mary-Lou.

 

“Guess what!” she said happily, “Auntie Joey has rung up Miss Annersley and asked that I come over to tea on Sunday!”  The tension went out of the room,  “I’m dying to see the new babies!”

 

In the rush of excitement at this news, I caught Marjorie by the arm, “Come on Marj please?”

 

“Oh all right, but I’m still not inviting anyone.”

 

I gave a sigh of relief.  I was somewhat nervous about meeting Mrs Maynard, but I knew Marjorie was fearless about such things.  She would give me much needed courage.

 

 

Sunday always seemed to be Marjorie’s worst day.  I don’t how it was but she invariable managed to do something awful on Sundays – even at school!  This particular Sunday – that of the trip to Freudesheim for tea – she began tolerably well by coming down to breakfast in her Sunday dress which showed up her dark prettiness to perfection.  How she could behave the way she did when she was lucky enough to look like that was a mystery to me!  If I could have exchanged my muddy complexion, mousy hair, snub nose and freckles for Marjorie’s loveliness, I’d have been good forever.  At least that is what I felt as I watched her putting on her hat in front of the mirror.

 

“I suppose we have to go through with this?” she grumbled as she arranged her hat to her satisfaction.

 

“Don’t be an ass!” I snapped, risking the wrath of the prefects.

 

“Slang Pansy?” said a voice.  I turned round and there was Esme’s personal nemesis, Ruth Wilson.

 

“Sorry Ruth,” I said as humbly as I could, “It won’t happen again.”

 

“Pay a fine,” Ruth said inexorably. She twisted something she was holding in her hand.

 

“Gosh,” Marjorie exclaimed, “Is that another of Esme’s ribbons?  It’s amazing the way they find their way to you isn’t it Ruth?”

 

At that moment Esme burst into the hall, one of her plaits unravelling madly,  “Oh, Pan!  Could you lend me ribbon please? I seem to have lost all mine apart from this one!” She indicated her one plait frantically.

 

Ruth Wilson glared at her, “Esme Harris, you know you are not allowed to borrow each others things.  Do your hair properly and pay a fine.”  She looked at Marjorie, “And you, put you hat on properly, not at that angle.  You look like a shop girl on a day out!”

 

Blushing, Esme re-did her hair as Ruth watched.

 

“By the way Ruth darling,” Marjorie said, “Are you going to perform on the Pianoforte, as Plato puts it?”

 

“If you mean am I going for my music lesson with Mr Denny – yes I am, why?”

 

“Well – as a matter of fact – I was just thinking – you havn’t been rubbing your face with your dirty hands have you?”

 

“My hands aren’t dirty!” Ruth told her indignantly, spreading them out in all their white perfection for us to see.

 

“No, they’re not, are they,” admitted Marjorie, “Terribly, terribly clean, in fact. Funny!  Perhaps it’s just the way you are standing or something.”

 

We then had the gorgeous site of the august prefect squinting vainly down her nose.

 

“Well, so long – oh, I’m so sorry.  I will cough up these vulgar expressions.  I mean goodbye, Ruth darling.  We must simply fly or we’ll be late for tea with Mrs Maynard and we’d simply hate that wouldn’t we Pansy?  Oh, and I’d pop into the bathroom if I were you Ruth.  It would be just too awful if you went to your lesson with Plato, I mean Mr Denny with a dirty face wouldn’t it?”  And we ran out of the door to meet the others who were going to Freudesheim with us.  “I’ll teach her to call me a shop girl!” she added when we were out of earshot.


	11. Chapter 11

We walked through the school grounds, and up to a gate set in the fence.  We walked through and found ourselves in the most beautiful rose garden.  Esme couldn’t help exclaiming with delight, “Yes,” said the ever knowledgeable Mary-Lou, “When we first came here, this was nothing but cabbages.”  We looked around us in amazement, it was hard to believe. 

 

At that minute the door to the house opened, and the oddest looking female was stood there.  From the waist down she looked normal, but above the waist she was wearing a twinset of the most ghastly colour, you could almost call it lime green, and her hair looked like nothing on earth.  It was as if someone had got two giant buns and clamped them onto the side of her face.  Added to this hideous bun arrangement, was a deep fringe which made what could have been an attractive face look somewhat sallow and squat!  She wasn’t wearing any make up either.  Mummy doesn’t wear much make up (not like Marjorie’s mother, who slathers it on with a trowel according to Guy) but she always makes sure she has some powder and lipstick on when she is expecting visitors.

 

“Shades of Caliban” Marjorie murmured.  To me however, she reminded me of Lady Blantosh from home – Peter calls her a ‘ghastly woman’.  She can be guaranteed to wear the wrong thing on every occasion and usually manages to look very bizarre.

 

“Welcome to Freudesheim!” cried the woman, “It means Happy Home!  And I hope you find it a happy home from home!”

 

 Before we could answer, a simply huge St Bernard dog bounded out of the doorway and charged straight at Esme.  Esme usually loves animals – hence the incident with Helga – but even she blanched at the sight of this monster.  He took a flying leap right at her and knocked her flat.

 

“Oh dear!” laughed the woman, rushing out, and trying, but failing to remove the dog from Esme’s prostrate body, “Bruno is very young and rather boisterous, but don’t be afraid of him,” she added, as she tugged ineffectually at his collar.

 

“I’m not afraid,” came Esme’s muffled tones, “I would just prefer not to be underneath him!”

 

Eventually, thanks to the combined efforts of Mrs Maynard and the rest of us, Bruno was removed.  Esme sat up, leaving her hair ribbons in the mud, “Gosh! I wonder what Guy would say about that dog,” she said.

 

“Guy?” asked Mrs Maynard as she led the way into the house.

 

“Yes, Guy,” Esme said, “He has some very firm ideas about animals and their training.  He thinks a badly behaved dog is a reflection on the owner.  He says anyone can train a dog properly if they take the time and effort.”

 

“Really?” Mrs Maynard, her voice sounding less friendly.

 

“Yes, do you remember that story he told us when we were staying with Guy, Peter and Gina in Mr Lovegreen’s vicarage last Christmas Pan?”

 

I nodded, and laughed.

 

“What’s so funny?” asked Vi.

 

“There was a chap he knew, as a matter of fact he was a parson,” I said thoughtfully, “He had an Old English Sheepdog called Ponto – “

 

“But that’s a lions name,” interrupted Mary-Lou.

 

“Never mind – his name was Ponto, anyway.  Well, he used to put his great shaggy head on the table, roll his eyes around and beg for things.  Very amusing!”

 

“The sweet thing,” murmured Esme.

 

“Yes – that’s what they thought, till one night they had the bishop to dinner.  In strolled Ponto and plonked his head – right in the old fellows soup –“

 

Everyone shrieked with laughter apart from Mrs Maynard.  She allowed herself a tight smile.  “Come into the Saal,” she said when we had stopped laughing, and we can introduce ourselves properly,” She glanced at Esme’s dishevelled state, “The cloakroom is just there, I think you had better tidy up.”

 

We sat in the Saal waiting for Esme, eventually she re-appeared.  Her face a clean oval, if you were careful not to look at the edges, and her hair back in it’s plaits once more.  I wondered about that, considering that that last I saw of her ribbons was them being chewed up by Bruno.  I looked closer and realised that Esme had used her shoe laces.  I was not the only once to notice, Mrs Maynard also spotted them.  She sent Marjorie and Mary-Lou upstairs to find some ribbons.  Marjorie came back downstairs with a closed expression on her face.  She handed the ribbons to Esme, who did her hair for the third time that day.

 

“Now!” Mrs Maynard said in a determinedly cheerful tone of voice, “I though we could play some games to break the ice.” 

 

“What ice?” asked Esme looking round in confusion.

 

Mrs Maynard’s ghastly laugh rang out, “I mean a game to help us all get to know each other!”

 

If anything, Esme looked even more confused, “But we do know each other, this is Vi, Barbara, Mary-Lou, Pan and Marj, we go to school together.”  She looked at Mrs Maynard in concern.

 

“I’ve had the corridor cleared,” said Mrs Maynard ignoring her, “I thought we could play slidy mats!”

 

“We?” Marjorie asked raising her eyebrows.

 

“Oh yes,” Mary-Lou cried, “Aunt Joey joins in the fun and games with us, she is still a Chalet girl at heart, aren’t you Aunt Joey?”

 

“But havn’t you just had a baby?” said Marjorie, “Won’t it be dangerous for you? I mean, you might have a prolapse or something!”  Marjorie was planning on training to be doctor after she left school.  She adores the idea of cutting people up.

 

To our surprise Mrs Maynard turned very red, “We don’t talk about things like that,” she said, “It isn’t suitable conversation for young girls.”

 

“Why not?” argued Marjorie, “After all, we are all 14 and 15, and some of us will be getting married and getting ourselves in pig.  We should know the risks.”

 

Mrs Maynard glared at Marjorie, “That is a disgusting expression, where ever did you learn it? Not at school I’m sure.”

 

“My mother,” said Marjorie blandly.

 

Once again Mrs Maynard looked shocked.  We could tell she wasn’t sure whether she should believe Marjorie or not, however she remained silent for a moment and then suggested we went into the hall to slide.  It was great fun.  I managed to steer my mat into Barbara, and we bumped heads, Esme lost her ribbons as usual, even Marjorie’s hair began to look a little wild, her curls corkscrewing this way and that.  I even found myself liking Mary-Lou more as she and Vi, shrieking wildly, propelled themselves to the end of the hall, and so ended the game with a draw. 

 

“Gosh look at your hair Marjorie!” Barbara commented, as Marjorie attempted to calm her rampant curls.

 

“You are luck Marjorie, to have such curly hair,” Mrs Maynard kindly, “Mine is as straight as a barge pole.”

 

“25 shillings,” replied Marjorie.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“That’s what my perm cost.”

 

“Perm?”

 

“Yes, my hair is permed, gosh was Guy cross!  Remember Pan?”

 

“I remember,” I replied.

 

“Time for tea!” said Mrs Maynard brightly

 

We went back into the Saal after that to have a sumptuous tea, there were delicious lemon biscuits, squashy cakes squashy enough to satisfy Esme.  Mrs Maynard took the opportunity to speak privately to Esme and Marjorie. Marjorie did not seem to appreciate her chat and re-appeared looking mutinous.

 

“Pan,” Mrs Maynard turned on me, “Would you like to come and meet the new addition to the family? Little Cecily?”

 

“Golly, can I? I have never seen a really new baby before,”

 

“Come along then.” 

 

We went upstairs and into the nursery, where a red faced, wrinkled baby was waiting.  Mrs Maynard sat down and began to give her a bottle.

 

“How do you like the Chalet School?” she asked me.

 

“I like it well enough,” I replied, “I’m finding it a little constricting, at home we get to go around by ourselves, ride our ponies, go camping, but here, every minute is supervised.”

 

Mrs Maynard nodded, “I think some people do find that at first.  Would you like to feed her?” she held the baby out to me.

 

“Gosh! Really?”

 

“Yes, really!” she handed Cecily to me, “So that is what you like? Ponies?”

 

I nodded.

 

“You don’t like reading?”

 

I shrugged, which was rather difficult as I was holding the baby.

 

“Have you never read any of my books?”

 

I shook my head, deciding then and there not to mention the fate of Tessa in Tyrol.

 

“Why not? You are my target audience after all.”

 

I looked thoughtfully at her, “Well, you see, um…”

 

“Yes?” grinned Mrs Maynard.

 

“You don’t write about ponies,” I said.

 

“And is that what you would like to read about?”

 

I nodded enthusiastically, “Oh yes!”

 

“Then maybe one day, when there aren’t any expeditions you might like to come over and tell me about ponies, so I can put some in a book?”

 

I realised then that I had misjudged Mrs Maynard, yes she probably was what Peter would call a ‘ghastly female’, but she was kind, and I was delighted three years later to receive my copy of the new Josephine M Bettany book – Pat’s Pony Holiday – with it’s dedication reading ‘To Pansy Pierce, who taught me everything I needed to know about horses’.

 

We headed back to school in time for Abendessen, and then bed.  I thought I was the only one awake when I heard my name whispered.

 

“Pan! Pan!”

 

“What?”

 

“Did you see that bucket of soot outside the door at Frogshum?” hissed Marjorie.

 

“Yes, what of it?”

 

“I dipped that old hags hair brushes into it, what price her face when she sees the state of her pillows in the morning!”

 

“Why?”

 

“She lectured me on decorum!  Serves her right!  Now go to sleep.”

 

I decided not to mention the fact that she had started the conversation, and hearing a step outside the door I felt that turning over and going to sleep would be the best plan. 


	12. Chapter 12

Things were quiet for a few weeks.  I think life was so busy at the Chalet School that even Marjorie did not have time for thinking of evil deeds to do.  Both Esme and I relaxed, but it was not to last.  Our three weeks of punishment for the bacon affair (as it was known in the school) were finally up, and we had been allowed to take part in the expedition to the nearest big town, Interlaken.  However we still were not allowed pocket money, so neither Esme or myself were able to avail ourselves of any mementos of our trip.  Oddly enough, Marjorie, who should have been in the same situation, appeared to have plenty of money.  When we asked her where it was from she simply shrugged her shoulders, and murmured something about her parents sending her check.  We accepted this, because Marjorie’s parents did prefer to send their daughter money, rather than actually spend time with her.  It wasn’t until we reached the school that the penny dropped.  We were met by a triumphant Ruth Wilson, holding a very dirty looking textbook, “I believe this is yours!” she said to Marjorie.

 

“Gosh, thank you Ruth darling,” Marjorie said wickedly, knowing that Ruth hated to be referred to as ‘darling’, “Where ever did you find it?”

 

“On the floor of the splasherie, pay a fine,”

 

“Of course Ruth darling,” said Marjorie, and headed off.

 

“Where are you going?” Ruth called after her.

 

Marjorie paused and looked round, “To pay my fine of course,”.

 

“The fine box is in the other direction, Marjorie, darling,” said Ruth in a cold voice.

 

“Of course it is,” said Marjorie, moving off.

 

“Go and pay your fine, now,” Ruth said.

 

Marjorie turned round and headed in the direction of the fine box.

 

“Marjorie,” called Ruth.

 

“What?” said Marjorie, forgetting the ‘darlings’ now.

 

“You have been paying your fines. Havn’t you?”

 

There was a pause, Esme and I stared at each other in horror.

 

“Of course Ruth darling,” said Marjorie in a surprised tone of voice.  I think only Esme and I knew she was lying.


	13. Chapter 13

The weeks past slowly.  There was a bout of bed weather and we were unable to leave the house, but finally a Saturday towards the end of October dawned bright and clear.  Our class was to have a trip up the Wengernalp, we were to have a picnic, prepared by Karen, rather than ourselves, and were going to spend the day climbing and relaxing.

 

“You have all spent far too long inside,” smiled Miss Annersley at Frühstück, “So a good long climb and lunch outside should shake the fidgets out of you.”  Her eyes rested on Marjorie briefly for a moment.

 

We were in the charge of Miss Wilmot and Miss Ferrars.  Vi explained that this was good, because although they were both excellent disciplinarians, they could be very friendly out on an expedition.

 

We climbed up the mountain, and eventually found ourselves on a broad shelf.  Miss Ferrars grinned round at our red, hot faces,  “We are going to trust you by yourselves, but you must not go off in groups smaller than four.”

Marjorie, Esme and I stared at each other in dismay, even more when Vi and Barbara joined us, bringing with them Mary-Lou.  “Shall we join up together?” said Mary-Lou in bell like tones.

 

“Um, ok,” Esme replied somewhat unwillingly.  We all, including Marjorie, liked Vi and Barbara, but  none of us were that keen on Mary-Lou.  Marjorie in particularly disliked her, referring to her to her face on one occasion as a ‘conceited ape’!  Mary-Lou led the way further up the shelf. 

 

We had a thrilling time exploring, on one side of the shelf was the path leading up the mountain, and on the opposite side was a steep, evil looking cliff.  We did not need Mary-Lou to tell us to steer clear of the edge.  Esme turned white, just looking over. 

 

After a while we got bored of exploring and so fixed up a sort of Aunt Sally by means of several big stones placed one upon the other with a little one for a head.  Marjorie put an even smaller one on top of that and called it Sally’s bonnet!  Then we shied pebbles at it and tried to knock Aunt Sally’s head off.  Vi and Marjorie were dab hands at it;  Esme, Barbara and I – not so good.  Mary-Lou turned out to be very good at hitting me, although I assumed this was by accident and not design.

 

After a while even this grew dull, and Esme suggested we have lunch, however Mary-Lou stood up and announced calmly, and most unreasonably, I thought at the time, that we must go.

 

“Oh, but we havn’t had lunch yet,” I protested.

 

“Sorry, but it’s going to get misty,” Mary-Lou said, screwing up her eyes and gazing at the sky with a practiced eye, “Won’t do to get caught in a fog on the mountain.”

 

“Oh well,” Marjorie said cheerfully, “Its O.K. as far as I am concerned.  Personally I’m rapidly getting fed of this place anyway,”

 

“Marjorie!” I exclaimed, shocked that anyone could be fed-up of this gorgeous shelf, and quite forgetting that I’d been almost of the same opinion not so long ago.

 

“Fact!” said Marjorie, picking up her camera.  “But I simply must take some snaps of the view first.  It won’t take a jiffy – “

 

To my amazement Mary-Lou cut her short quite curtly.

 

“No time for snaps Marjorie, sorry”

 

Marjorie’s brown eyes opened wide.

 

“But – “

 

“And no time to argue either, my lamb.  Come on!”

 

Marjorie stood still.

 

“Perhaps you’ll be good enough to let me collect my camera case then – and my blazer,” she said icily.  “They’re just over there.  But maybe even that’s too much to ask your high and mightiness.  Perhaps I had better just leave them for the goats.”

 

“Don’t talk bosh!” Mary-Lou said sharply, “Of course go and get them; only buck up, that’s all.”

 

Marjorie bucked up.  She ran like a hare to the patch of turf where her brown canvas camera case lay together with her blazer which she had shed, against advice, when it grew too hot.  She didn’t stop when she got there either; she ran straight on and, before we knew what had happened, she had disappeared up the path with a triumphant flick of her skirts.

 

“Confound the stupid little idiot!” exclaimed Vi and she set off in pursuit.  We waited breathlessly, expecting at any moment to see Vi reappear, dragging Marjorie by the hair of the head – figuratively speaking – behind her.  But for quite a long time nothing happened, and when at last Vi did reappear, she was alone.

 

“We had better return to the others,” she said when she reached us.  “Marjorie, will probably turn up soon.”

 

But before we could gather our wits, the fog was upon us.


	14. Chapter 14

We sat and twiddled our thumbs hoping that Marjorie would reappear and that the mist would vanish.  But after about twenty minutes or so had gone by, and still no Marjorie, we began to get alarmed.

 

“We’ll have to go and look for her again,” said Mary-Lou.  “We’d better split up.  Barbara, you and Vi go off first, the rest of us will stay here in case she slips back.  Then we’ll change over.”

 

The two of them set off whilst the rest of us resigned ourselves to another period of waiting.  We waited.  Meanwhile, Marjorie showed no signs of putting in an appearance.  Vi and Barbara came back without having caught a glimpse of her.  We stood and looked at each other anxiously through the mist which now wrapped the shelf like a blanket.

 

“I say – this is foul!” I said.  “What do we do now? Golly!  What a filthy mist!”

 

Mary-Lou’s voice, sounding terribly worried, came out of the gloom; “Go on looking, I suppose.  But be careful – those cliffs are terribly dangerous in this mist.  And by the way, that makes me wonder – “

 

She walked away before she’d had time to tell us what she wondered, and we followed because we could tell she had something on her mind.  We walked up the path and began to scan the cliff edge.  Thrilling the edge had seemed in sunlight; cruel it was now, with the mist swirling around their edges, like an evil sea.

 

And it was there we found Marjorie at last!  She was lying on an edge of rock that jutted out a below the edge of the cliff.  From there the cliff fell straight and sheer, hundreds of feet to the shelf below.  Her head hung perilously over the edge of the shelf, and she seemed unconscious.  Anyway, she didn’t move or make a sound.

 

We looked at each other in terror, and Esme began to cry.

 

“Take off your belts and stockings!” ordered Mary-Lou taking command.  “We can use them to make a rope.” And suiting action to words she stripped off her stockings and knotted them together.  We followed her example and soon we had an improvised rope.  “I’m going down there to hold onto her in case she comes to and falls of that shelf.”

 

So saying, she lay down flat and wriggled over the edge of the cliff.  We watched the horrible descent with baited breath.  Mary-Lou reached Marjorie and lifted her so that her head no longer hung in dizzy space.  She sat with her legs dangling over the edge, and Marjorie held securely in her lap.  We felt distinctly better, although we knew that the hardest part was yet to come.  I daren’t even think how they were both going to get up that terrible cliff – with Marjorie unconscious.

 

In a few moments Mary-Lou’s voice came up to us.

 

“Barbara, did you bring your first aid kit with you?”  Barbara called her assent.  “Tie it in something and lower it down would you?  And for heaven’s sake tie is securely!”

 

We put the little first aid kit into Marjorie’s camera case, and using our vests as another rope, lowered it down to Mary-Lou.  We saw her receive it, but then the mist grew so thick that we could see no more.

 

Presently we heard Mary-Lou talking to Marjorie, and although we couldn’t hear what she said, we knew with relief that at any rate she had recovered consciousness.  In a few more minutes she appeared alone.

 

“Is she terribly hurt,” we whispered anxiously.

 

“No,” Mary-Lou assured us.  “I don’t think so.  A nasty cut on the head, a bump on the forehead, and something wrong with her left wrist.  I think it’s only sprained though, not broken.  I’ll put it in splints though, to stop it getting jiggled on the way up.”

 

“But how – “ I asked.

 

“She’ll have to climb with one hand,” Mary-Lou explained.  “With the help of the rope, she ought to be able to manage it.  Anyhow, it’s the only possible way.”

 

She searched round a bit and collected some pieces of wood, which would do for emergency splints, and then Mary-Lou vanished over the cliff once more.  It seemed ages and ages, but really, I suppose, it wasn’t so very long before we saw their heads appear out of the mist.  Marjorie came first, and I noticed she wore Mary-Lou’s blazer, with her poor left arm inside it.  Mary-Lou had her arm round her waist so she kept her from falling every time she had to let go of the rope to with her right arm to come another step nearer the cliff top and safety.

 

At last they were both on the top.  Marjorie was quite exhausted and I think Mary-Lou was too.  She was so white that we thought she was going to faint, but after a short while she opened her eyes and said, “Well, that’s that,” quite casually, as if these things happened every day.  

 

Before we could reply, two figures loomed out of the mist.  One figure resembled a Norse God, he was tall, blonde and with grey green eyes, the other was also tall and bronzed like a haughty Indian, “Guy!” shrieked Esme hurling herself upon him, almost knocking him down.

 

“Hullo infant!” said Guy, giving her pigtail an affectionate tug.

 

Section 22

“What’s going on?” asked Guy, staring round at the rest of us, “What’s up with Marjorie?”

 

I rapidly explained.  The Norse God disappeared into the mist.  He re-appeared a few minutes later looking very white, he walked upto Mary-Lou and held out his hand, “Shake,” he said.  Looking somewhat surprised Mary-Lou shook his hand.  “I couldn’t have done it,” he said.

 

“Have you met my cousin David Elliot?” asked Guy.  We shook our heads. “David, this is Pan Pierce, Marjorie Manners and Esme Harris.”

 

I rapidly remembered my manners, “And these are Vi Lucy, Mary-Lou Trewlawny and Barbara Chester.”

 

“But what are you doing here?” asked Guy.

 

“We were on a ramble,” said Barbara, “And unfortunately we were caught by this fog before we could rejoin out party.”

 

“It’s my fault Guy,” Marjorie raised her head, there were tears running down her face. 

 

“Why am I not surprised?” Guy grinned, “David, I can assure you that if anything goes wrong, or if there is trouble brewing, Marjorie will be at the bottom of it.  Unless it involves animals, in which case it will be Esme’s fault!”

 

“You beast Guy Charlton!” Marjorie shouted, her tears forgotten.

 

“He’s not a beast! You are Marjorie!” Esme shouted back, furious as always when anyone attacked her beloved Guy.

 

“But what are you doing here?” I butted in, before Marjorie and Esme could have a free for all.

 

“David’s father, Colonel Elliot, decided to take a trip out to Switzerland, something to do with back investments.  He thought it would do David good to have a trip, and David, knowing how much I like climbing mountains suggested I accompanied them.”

 

“So father pulled us out of school and here we are,” added David.

 

“But we can’t stay here,” said Guy.  “There’s a hut just up the path, David and I passed it on our way down.  I think we should all head up there and sit this beastly fog out.”

 

“Motion carried,” said Mary-Lou, she looked very relieved at the suggestion. “Lead the way!”

 

We headed back up the mountain, passing the remains of our Aunt Sally.  Guy had his arm around Esme, and David was supporting Marjorie.  When we reached the hut we discovered, to our horror, that it was locked.  David pushed hard against the door and it burst open, to reveal a gloomy interior.  We walked inside.  There were two rooms.  One filled with straw, and the other which seemed more like a room for living in.  There were a couple of rickety chairs a fire place.  There was also a cupboard, which David fell on with a whoop of glee.  He rummaged frenziedly, and pulled out a frying pan, several onions and what appeared to be:

 

“Bacon!” cried Esme in delight.  The horrors of the fog forgotten, her whole being focused happily on the fact that there was bacon.

 

“What have you got in those knapsacks?” asked Guy, as he busied himself with lighting the fire.

 

“Boiled eggs, meat pies, filled rolls, fruit and a bottle of milk,” Vi answered, emptying the contents onto the floor.

 

“Well, I don’t think we will starve,” David laughed.  “I vote we share out your food now, and save the bacon for breakfast.”

 

“Breakfast?” I stuttered, “You mean we have to stay here all night?”

 

“I think we may have to,” said Guy.  “Who knows when this mist will go.”

 

“But… Miss Ferrars… the school…” I spluttered.

 

“Don’t worry,” said Mary-Lou calmly, “I’m sure they know about this hut, they will expect us to make for it.”

 

I looked at Mary-Lou in surprise.  Here was a girl, who acted like the world would end if you didn’t follow every school tradition, acting calmly when faced with spending the night in a mountain hut, whilst trapped by mist.  What I didn’t realise at the time, was the fact that this was a school tradition in itself.

 

We shared out our picnic lunch, and then David suggested we got some rest.  We girls retreated to the straw filled room, and the boys stayed in the outer room.  We were very tired.


	15. Chapter 15

When I awoke it was pitch dark.  There was the sound of water in my ears, and I realise the fog had been replace by torrential rain.  It was descending on the hut like falling bullets, so I guessed it was hail as well as rain.  A terrific crash of thunder went echoing round the mountains, and flashes of lightening lit up the room; then more crashes.  The next thing I knew was that Esme had landed on top of me like a veritable thunderbolt.  She didn’t say anything; she just huddled against me and shivered.

 

“Gosh!” Marjorie exclaimed, as another lightening flashed revealed the panic-stricken Esme.  “You don’t say she’s scared of thunder!”

 

My reply was drowned by the peal that followed the flash and a violent knocking at the door.

 

“Guy and David!” I exclaimed. “Sorry Esme, but I must go an open the door.”

 

“Are you alright?” asked Guy.  “Where’s Esme?”

 

“There!” said Marjorie contemptuously, pointing to bump in the middle of the straw.  “She’s crying for Nursie!”

 

“You cry for Nursie, too, when you catch sight of more than two inches of water,” Guy reminded her.  “Come out Miss Harris, David and I are brewing up some hot milk.”

 

“The storm is passing over,” added David.

 

Esme crawled out, but after a bit the storm came back again – that’s the worst of storms in these mountains; they go round and round – and she disappeared once more, and nothing could persuade her to show her face.  The storm was really very thrilling.  We amused ourselves by trying to guess how far away the storm was from the peals.  Barbara was very good at this.

 

“Right again Barbara!” I yelled, as the last peal died away, “Three miles!”

 

“Four!” came a muffled voice from under the straw.  We looked round and there was Esme’s little face sticking out.  After this she got quiet exited and interested, and played the game as hard as any of us.  She even nerved herself to abandon the straw and leant against Guy as he showed her the lovely effects of the lightening flashed through the rain, which still came down in curtains.  She fell asleep at last with her head pillowed on his knee, the lightening still flickering over her face, and if that wasn’t an example of perfect trust, I should like to know what was.

 

When I woke the next morning, I wondered for a few moments where I was. The sun was streaming through a small window and falling in a pool of light onto my patch of straw.

 

The boys were already up and had lit the fire.  Guy was putting slices of the home fed bacon into the frying pan.  The gorgeous fragrance drifted into us, and really all Mummy’s choicest scents couldn’t hold a candle to it.

 

“What a gorgeous sizzling,” sighed Esme blissfully as we crawled out from under the straw and went to breakfast.

 

I looked at her and began to laugh.  There were straws sticking out of her hair, and there was a huge smudge across her face.

 

“What?” she demanded.

 

“You!” I laughed.  “You look like that mad old King we read about in English with Miss Annersley, the one with all the straws in his hair!”

 

“Sez you,” Esme retorted.  “You look like you have been having a fight in a stable!”

 

“What are you making that filthy row for?” demanded Marjorie.  She looked like nothing on earth.  Her permed hair was matted and full of straw, there was a huge bruise on her forehead, and, like us, her clothes were in need of a good wash.  She sniffed the air, “Bacon!” she exclaimed.

 

“Yes, the boys I cooking it for breakfast,” I told her.

 

“Good.  Let’s keep quiet until it’s ready.”

 

But the rest of us could not do that.  We rushed into the next room, eager to see what had happened to the fog and rain, and to eat our breakfast.  Esme burst open the door and looked out onto the shelf.  The view was amazing, clear and bright.  It was as if the fog had never been and the rain had washed everything clean.  The air smelt fresh, with just a hint of the bacon frying in the hut.

 

“Gosh!” sighed Esme, her eyes shut rapturously.  “I feel like we at home.  Maybe at the Peel House above Garside!”

 

I knew what she meant.  Switzerland was lovely, but it wasn’t home.  I loved the mountains, but preferred the rugged Cheviots.  I missed our ponies.  I missed the freedom to camp, to ride, and to look after ourselves.  But most of all I missed Guy, our leader, and I knew Esme did too.

 

“Come on!” a shout came from the hut.  “Breakfast is ready!”

 

We walked back to the hut to find everyone, even Marjorie, assembled.

 

“Gosh, haven’t you washed yet?” Marjorie demanded.

 

“How can we wash?” I retorted, before noticing that everyone else was clean and tidy.

 

“There’s a spring behind the hut,” grinned Vi.  “We thought that was why you went outside.”

 

“So you had better go and wash if you want any breakfast!” laughed Guy.  “No washing, no breakfast.  And that does mean the back of your neck too Esme!  I will inspect it for tide marks, and woe betide you if there is one.”

 

“Come on,” I grabbed Esme and hustled her out of the hut before she could retaliate.  “He’s only teasing you.”

 

We washed swiftly and returned to the hut.

 

“Let me see your neck Esme,” said Guy sternly.

 

“No!” replied Esme, her little nose in the air.

 

“Well then, no bacon for you.”

 

“I don’t want your futile bacon Guy Charlton!” snapped Esme.

 

“Oh well, more for us,” said Mary-Lou, entering into the spirit of things.  To Esme’s horror Mary-Lou reached for the bacon Guy was holding.

 

Esme sat down, showed her neck to Guy, and took the bacon, all in one swift movement and began to tuck in.  Guy grinned at Mary-Lou.  With a speed that was amazing, all the bacon was soon gone.

 

“Time to wash up, and then we ought to head back down the mountain and return you girls to your school,” said David.

 

“Wash up?” echoed Marjorie.  “Why?”

 

“We can’t leave the mess,” David said.  “After all, we have eaten their bacon, the least we can do is wash up, and leave the hut as we found it.”

 

Marjorie shrugged and pulled out her comb to do her hair once more.  David stared at her in surprise.  This was his first experience of Marjorie however, so he didn’t say anything more.  The hut was quickly tidied, and before we knew it we were headed down the mountain and on our way back to school.


	16. Chapter 16

The walk down the mountain was good fun.  It was still early enough in the morning for nobody to be around.  The silence was only broken by the bickering of Esme and Marjorie about the joys – or not in Esme’s case – of fox hunting.

 

“I tell you, the fox loves being hunted!” Marjorie said.

 

“Sez you!” remarked Esme sarcastically.

 

Guy looked at Esme thoughtfully, “Esme, if I hear another ‘sez you’ or any other of those vulgar expressions you’re so fond of just now, you’re for it!  I shall smack you – honest Injun I shall!”

 

Esme subsided, but she gave Guy a very dirty look.

 

“Look at the view!” I said hurriedly in the hope of keeping the peace.

 

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Mary-Lou said.

 

“You’re telling me!” Esme exclaimed.

 

There was a moment’s tense silence.  Marjorie giggled and Guy put on his severest expression.  For a while Esme looked puzzled; then she realised what she had said, and dashed away down the path.  Guy followed in hot pursuit.

 

“Go on, Guy! Tally ho! Tally ho! The fox is away!” yelled Marjorie, jumping up and down in excitement.

 

We all charged after them, and ran round the corner only to crash into them.  Guy and Esme were stood facing two men, and, worst of all, Miss Annersley.

 

“Hello Uncle Jack, hello Dr Entwhistle!” Mary-Lou said happily, “Gosh, it’s good to see you, we’ve had a thrilling time!”

 

Dr Maynard did not look happy.  “Why didn’t you come straight down the mountain when the fog first began?” he demanded.

 

“Oh, well, it was because – “ Mary-Lou tailed off, it was obvious she did not want to drop Marjorie in it, but I couldn’t see how she could avoid it.

 

“It was my fault Sir,” Guy said stepping forward.  “You see, David and I knew there was a hut a little further up the mountain, and we thought it better to get the girls there to sit out the fog, rather than risk an accident trying to find our way down.”

 

“And who might you be?” demanded Dr Maynard.

 

“Guy Charlton, and this is my cousin, David Eliot.”

 

“Guy?” Miss Annersley exclaimed.

 

“Hullo Aunt Hilda,” Guy said.

 

“You know this young man?” Dr Maynard asked Miss Annersley in surprise.

 

“Of course,” answered our Headmistress. “He is the son of my second cousin who lives in Northumbria.  If the girls were with you Guy, then I am sure all went well.”

 

“All the same,” said Dr Entwhistle, “I think we need to get these girls back to school and into a warm bath and then bed.  They have spent the night in a mountain hut, and so we cannot take any risks with their health.”

 

I think we all looked horrified at this pronouncement, because Guy said hurriedly, “I don’t think that is necessary Sir. I have been camping with Pan, Esme and Marjorie countless times, they are used to sleeping in Peel houses, tents and abandoned castles.  A night in a mountain hut won’t hurt them at all.”

 

“As for Mary-Lou, Vi and Barbara,” David put in his two pennies worth, “They were all warm and well fed, and we have marched down this path at a cracking pace, and they don’t seem any the worse for it.”

 

Miss Annersley smiled, “We will have Matron check them over when we get back to school, but, if all is as you say, then maybe we will forgo the day in bed.”

 

“Oh Miss Annersley!” Esme cried, “Please may Guy and David come to tea at school as a thank you?  I’m sure you want to see something of Guy, seeing as he is your relation, and they did look after us so well!”

 

Miss Annersley gazed at Guy and David thoughtfully.  I could see she was wondering what effect these two young men would have on a school full of girls, especially as one of them looked like a haughty bronzed eagle, and the other like a Norse god.  Evidently she decided in our favour, she smiled at Esme and invited Guy to take her arm for the walk back to the school.

 

Well!  If we wanted to create a sensation (which Esme never intended I’m sure) then walking into Mitagassen with Guy Charlton and David Eliot was certainly the way to do it.  Marjorie, of course, loved it, but I could tell from the expression on Guy’s face that he was having second thoughts.  In fact I don’t think I have ever seen Guy look quiet so scared.

 

Marjorie led the way to our usual table and sat herself down.  She smiled sweetly at the prefect on duty, who was none other than Ruth Wilson.  Ruth was staring at Guy and David as if she had never seen boys before (she probably hadn’t Marjorie said later).

 

The rest of us sat down hurriedly, David and Guy trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible, which was difficult when every eye in the hall seemed to be upon them.

 

“Oh, Ruth, darling,” Marjorie said in her most confiding manner.  “I hope you don’t mind Guy and David joining us for lunch.  You see we spent the night with them on the mountain, and we thought the least we could do was feed them as a thank you!”

 

Ruth’s face took on an expression similar to a startled codfish, but really, Marjorie was awful.  I heard a suppressed snort beside me.  A quick glance told me it was Mary-Lou.  Esme had turned bright pink with the effort of suppressing her own giggles.

 

“You can’t bring boys to Mittagassen,” hissed Ruth, going bright red.  She was staring at Guy as if transfixed.  He looked in her direction, and although it would seem impossible, Ruth went even redder.

 

“Why not?” Marjorie asked bluntly, “I think you will find they are housetrained, I don’t anticipate them doing anything too dreadful!”

 

“Marjorie,” said Guy quietly.

 

“This is a girls school,” replied Ruth, dragging her eyes from Guy and glaring at  Marjorie.  “We don’t have boys here.”

 

“Are you sure about that? I assume you have looked at some of your fellow prefects in the morning?”

 

David gave a small cough.  We all looked at him.  “May I have some coffee please?” he asked, clearly trying to diffuse some of the tension.

 

Ruth dragged her eyes away from Marjorie and turned her attention to David.  Unfortunately the sight of David appeared to reduce her to total incoherence.

 

“Is something the matter?” asked Marjorie grinning maliciously.

 

I reached out and hurriedly poured David a cup.  I handed it to Ruth to pass to him.  The cup rattled madly in its saucer.  Luckily at that moment the door to the Saal opened and in walked Matron.  She stared at the two boys in surprise.  “Who on earth are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded.

 

“They are our guests,” Marjorie replied, “Ruth is just passing David his coffee, but she seems to have spilt it.”

 

Ruth leapt up, barged rudely passed Matron and fled the Saal, just as Miss Annersley walked in.

 

“Ah, Matron,” said Miss Annersley taking in the situation in a glance, “I don’t think you have met my second cousins son Guy, and his cousin David.  They are joining us for Mittagassen.  Marjorie, please wipe up that spill, and girls, go on with your meal.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spanking scene is entirely Lorna Hill.

It had been a week since Guy and David had visited the school, and although they only stayed for Kaffee und Kuchen we did run into them a few days later by the lake.  The weather had turned exceptionally hot and Miss Annersley had decided we could visit the lake for the last swim of the season.  Guy and David, both exceptional swimmers, were already there.  They were diving from a boat moored towards the centre of the lake.  As we arrived we saw Guy perform a magnificent dive into the water with barely a splash.  There was a gasp of admiration from the assembled girls.

 

“Oh don’t!” snapped Marjorie.  She was in bad mood because she was scared of water.  She had tried to fake a cold to get out of swimming.  Marjorie refused to admit defeat where Matron was concerned.  But as usual Matron had won.  She had dosed Marjorie with her foulest castor oil and sent her packing. “Don’t,” she repeated, “You will only make him more big headed!”

 

“Guy isn’t big headed!” Esme turned on Marjorie like snake.  “You are the big headed one!”

 

We watched Guy climb back onto the boat and perform another dive.  There was scarcely a sound – just a widening ripple to show where he had cleft the water.  That was all.  Esme’s eyes shone, but when the seconds went by and Guy didn’t re-appear, she stifled a cry.

 

“Don’t be cuckoo,” I said, “He’s only seeing how long he can stay under.”

 

At the same time I was beginning to feel a little uneasy myself when the water rippled at our feet and there he was, shaking the water out of his eyes.

 

“Hullo! I’d no idea you were there until I saw you through the water as I came up.”

 

I looked at him severely and remarked:

 

“You gave Esme the dickens of a fright, staying under so long.  She thought you were gone forever.”

 

Guy trod water and laughed up at Esme, whose eyes were still as round as saucers.

 

“Oh no Esme, you don’t get rid of me as easily as that!” he teased.

 

“But – but, you said you saw us from underneath,” Esme exclaimed in horror.  “You don’t mean to say you open your eyes when you are down there in all that awful cold water?”

 

Guy looked amazed.

 

“Well, of course! Naturally I open my eyes when I’m under water.  How on earth d’you suppose I see where I’m going otherwise?”

 

Esme still looked doubtful.

 

“Do you mean to say you swim with your eyes shut?” he demanded.

 

“Y-yes, when I’m underneath.  But then you see, I’m not often underneath – at least not except by accident.”

 

“Oh Esme, you little duffer.  This must be altered,” said Guy with determination.  “You can’t learn to swim properly if you never open your eyes in the water.”

 

Esme back hastily away from the edge of the pier as if she expected Guy to pull her in there and then.

 

“You let me alone!” she told him, “I’m quite all right they way I am.”

 

“Ok,” laughed Guy. “You go on swimming round and round like a little bat then! But don’t expect me to rescue you when you get lost!”

 

“Do you think you could teach me to dive like that?” butted in Vi, clearly with the intention of keeping the peace.

 

“Me too please!” said Mary-Lou.

 

“Of course,” Guy grinned, although he seemed a little taken back when the rest of the gang joined in.

 

“What’s going on here?” demanded the voice of prefectorial authority.

 

“Hullo, Ruth darling,” said Marjorie, “Guy was just offering to teach us to dive.”

 

Ruth glanced at Guy as he trod water, his bronzed upper half glistening in the sun.  She went darkly red.  “Hurry up and get changed,” she ordered.  She turned round and hurried away, but as she passed Marjorie, she failed to notice the foot which had been extended.  Ruth went head first into the water with an amazing splash!

 

There was a scream from Esme, as Ruth vanished beneath the water and did not surface.  Vi rapidly began pulling off her uniform preparatory for diving in a rescuing Ruth, but we had all forgotten Guy, he didn’t waste a second.  In less time than it takes to write it down he had scythed through the water like a dolphin and dived underwater.  A minute later he resurfaced, “You! Vi!” he gasped, “Pull her out,” and in less than a minute Ruth was lying on the side of the lake coughing up water and looking very white.

 

“She’ll be alright,” Guy said reassuringly to me as he put his arms round the weeping Esme.  “She just needs warming up and some dry clothes.” 

 

Miss Wilmot hurried over and thanked Guy fulsomely until he was blushing redder than I had ever seen him.  The cold water droplets were glistening on his bare shoulders.  Miss Wilmot hurried Ruth off and Guy turned to Marjorie, who was lurking at the back of the crowd of girls and announced with deceptive quietness, “And now Marjorie, you’re going to get that spanking I’ve so often threatened you with!”

 

The girls and I gazed at him in awestruck silence.  As for Marjorie she faced him tuning red and white by turns.

 

“How dare you!” she yelled, her hair flying and her dark eyes flashing.

 

“You could have badly injured Ruth,” Guy said sternly.  “You made Esme cry.  I vowed there and then, that I’d give you a hiding, and I’m going to.  So you may as well face up to it!”

 

“Face down to it, you mean!” said David who had appeared.  “Go on Guy! Put her across your knee and let her have it! She deserves it! Why should she get off scot-free?”

 

“You forget I’m a girl!” yelled Marjorie, her eyes wide with fright.

 

“That’s your fault,” Guy said calmly.  “When you don’t behave like a girl, how can you expect us to remember that fact? We’ve treated you like a girl too long, if you ask me! Anyway, you’ve told us often enough that you wished you were a boy, that you wouldn’t mind being licked.”

 

“I didn’t mean it!” Marjorie said desperately.  “Honestly I didn’t!”

 

“Well, I can’t help that.  You shouldn’t say what you don’t mean.  Anyway, you’re going to be treated like a boy now, whether you like it or not!”

 

“You daren’t do it!” she exclaimed, very unwisely, as she would have been the first to realise if she hadn’t been so het up.

 

Guy merely raised his dark eyebrows.

 

Marjorie changed her tactics.  She put on her meekest and most pleading expression.

 

“Please, Guy,” she begged, he eyes full of tears.  “Please, please let me off.  I’m sorry – honestly I am.  I’ll apologise.”

 

“You will,” agreed Guy pleasantly. “After the spanking.”

 

“Please Guy,” said Marjorie again, unable to realise that, for the first time, her pleading was to be in vain.

 

He shook his head.  “No.  This time you have gone too far, and you aren’t going to get away with it.” He walked over to his pile of clothes and picked up one of his rubber-soled sand-shoes, and stood gently flicking it against his knee.  “The game’s up Marjorie! You may as well give in without a fuss!”

 

But it wasn’t Marjorie’s way to give in without a struggle.  The fact that the odds were all against her, and defeat certain in the long run, made no difference.  Her meek demeanour dropped from her like a cloak.  She faced Guy, her hands clenched into fists, her eyes blazing.

 

“You shan’t!” she yelled at him, stamping her foot.  “I’ll kill you! I’ll die first!” The she whirled round, took to her heels and dashed for the shelter of the bathing huts – incidentally, knocking Mary-Lou and me flat in her headlong flight.

 

Guy followed, and hauled her back.  He sat down on a nearby log, put her across his knee and proceeded to whack her with the sand-shoe, whilst the rest of us tried not to laugh.

 

You couldn’t have said Marjorie took her punishment like a man.  She struggled, fought, kicked, and screamed like a regular wild-cat.  Sometimes I have an idea that she bit as well!  Really, you’d have through she was being killed, at least!

 

“Let me go you beast!” she yelled.  “Stop it Guy! Ouch! You’re hurting me!”

 

Presently Guy released her.

 

“You’ve had that coming for a long time, Marjorie,” he declared, giving her a last whack with the shoe as she sprang to her feet.  “I hope you benefit from it!  As for hurting you – of course I hurt.  I meant to.  You didn’t think I was doing it for fun, did you?  You made Esme cry.  I promised I’d make you cry too.  Well, now that it’s over, we’ll call it quits, shall we?” He held out his hand.

 

Marjorie dashed the tears from her eyes.

 

“I’m not crying!” she shouted at him. “I’m not! How dare you say I am!  And I shan’t shake hands with you, either, or call it quits.  And I shan’t forgive you either! I shall never forgive you! Never!  I shall never speak to you again!”


	18. Chapter 18

It was clearly a stand off.  Marjorie was furious at her humiliation and Guy, although less angry was clearly not going to let Marjorie off on her apology.

 

“I don’t care if you are never going to speak to me again Marjorie, but you are going to apologise to Ruth,” he said coldly.

 

“I won’t!” shouted Marjorie.  “I will never apologise to her!  You can beat me all you like!”

 

“Is that so?” Guy began tapping the sand-shoe against his thigh.  “You might change your mind again if I take you at your word.”

 

What Marjorie was going to say to that, we never found out.

 

“What’s going on?” asked a voice.  We dragged our eyes away from the spectacle of Guy and Marjorie and saw, to our horror, Miss Ferrars, and she did not look pleased.  “What is going on?” she repeated sternly.  There was nothing of a poppet about Miss Ferrars now.

 

“Oh, I was just… explaining… to Marjorie that she needs to apologise to Ruth,” said Guy.

 

“And does your explaining need to cause such a rumpus?” asked Miss Ferrars.  I wasn’t sure, but I could have sworn there was a twinkle in her eye as she addressed Guy.  Although the look she gave Marjorie was very stern indeed.

 

“Gosh,” said Guy, running his hand through his dark hair and looking at the crowd of people observing us, “I didn’t realise she was making such a dickens of a noise.”

 

“Indeed,” said Miss Ferrars, there was a definite twinkle in her eye.  She turned to Marjorie and the twinkle had vanished, “You will come with me and apologise, and then you will get into your bathing things and bath.  The rest of you, go and change.”

 

Marjorie opened her mouth to argue some more, but there was something about Miss Ferrars that changed her mind.  She might fight with Guy on a regular basis, but even Marjorie realised the consequences of arguing with Miss Ferrars would be dire.  She meekly walked towards Ruth and made her best apology as we went and changed.  I wondered if Miss Ferrars had seen quite what Guy had been doing as he ‘explained’ things to Marjorie.  I wasn’t to find out until after Abendessen.

 

Mary-Lou had called a form meeting for when we arrived back at school. Esme and I were going to be late for it because, as usual, Esme had lost her hair ribbons.  In our rush to get there we raced past the staff room, and there on the floor we spotted one of the missing ribbons.  As we crashed to a halt and Esme rapidly did up one of her plaits we heard Miss Ferrars speaking.

 

“All I could see was a circle of heads, so I pushed my way through, and there to my surprise, was Marjorie getting a good spanking!”

 

The was a ripple of laughter from the staffroom.

 

“I wish I had seen it,” said another voice (“Miss Wilmott!” hissed Esme), “There has been many a time this term when I have yearned for a cane and the right to use it on young Marjorie Manners!”

 

“If any a girl was misnamed, it’s her,” said Miss Ferrars.

 

“So what happened next?” demanded another voice (“Matron!” hissed Esme).

 

“Well I couldn’t allow such an exhibition to continue, we were starting to attract a lot of attention, so I made my presence known, and Marjorie apologised to Ruth.”

 

“What about Guy?”

 

“I think he was rather embarrassed by then, especially when he realised the size of the crowd he had attracted, so he handed Marjorie over like a lamb, and went off to teach the gang to dive.”

 

“How much longer are those two boys planning on staying here?” asked Matron.

 

“I believe they are leaving on Monday,” said Miss Ferrars, “Why? Don’t you like them? I think they are charming!”

 

“Oh they are,” agreed Matron, “But have you seen the effect they are having on the girls? Particularly Ruth Wilson!”

 

There was much laugher from the staffroom, and I suddenly realised that we really shouldn’t be there, I seized Esme’s arm and dragged her off to the common room.

 

“What did she mean?” asked Esme in confusion, “What are Guy and David doing to Ruth?”

 

I looked at Esme curiously, in many ways Esme is very innocent, I decided not to explain what I thought, and I was very glad Marjorie was not there.  She would have explained happily and vulgarly I was sure!

 

When we got into the common room Mary-Lou was holding forth about the upcoming entertainment which we were to provide for the staff.  She wanted ideas.

 

“I think it is all perfectly futile,” said Marjorie.  “Why should we bother entertaining people whose job it is to make our lives a misery?”

 

The form were used to Marjorie by now, and took no notice.

 

“Come on,” demanded Mary-Lou, looking sternly at the assembled girls, “You must have some ideas!”

 

“It’s all very well,” said Vi Lucy, “But you have just thrown this at us, you can’t expect us to come up with something pat to the moment.”

 

Mary-Lou grinned at her, “I will give everyone five minutes to think hard,” she said, “And then I want some ideas.”

 

We sat and thought.  I have to confess, my brain was completely blank.  At the end of the five minutes Mary-Lou looked at us all, “Well?” she demanded.

 

“Maybe paper games?” offered Barbara.

 

This was groaned down by all the girls present as having been done to death.

 

“A sheets and pillow cases party?” suggested someone else.

 

“It’s an idea,” said Mary-Lou writing it down, “Anybody else?”

 

Surprisingly Marjorie came out with a suggestion, “How about a harvest festival, a crown a harvest Queen?”

 

“It’s a new idea,” said Vi.

 

“It will need a bit more padding out, but it could be done,” said Mary-Lou happily.

 

Marjorie smirked.


	19. Chapter 19

Esme and I looked at each other in horror.  Only too well could we remember the last time we had attempted a harvest Queen.  The results were too awful to contemplate.

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea…” I began, but was drowned out by suggestions coming thick and fast from the rest of the form.

 

“We could do some folk dances!” suggested someone.

 

“Yes, and eightsome reels!” cried another voice.

 

“An old English feast!”

 

“And the staff have to come dressed for a harvest festival!”

 

I seized Marjory by the arm and hustled her out of the room.  Esme followed close on our heels.

 

“What on earth do you think you are doing?” demanded Marjory, rubbing her arm.  I had grabbed her rather hard, but Marjory liked to feel hard done by.

 

“Why did you suggest a Harvest Queen?” I asked, “You remember what happened last time?”

 

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders in the way that infuriated Guy, “You don’t think I am going to volunteer to take part do you?” she said calmly.

 

“Um, if you are not going to take part, why did you suggest it?” said Esme.

 

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders once more, “When that futile old hag, Mrs Maynard, asks whose wonderful idea this was, the form are going to have to say that it was mine, and that will make her sit up.”

 

I glared at Marjorie.  “Of all the selfish beasts, Marjorie Manners, you are the worst!”

 

“Do you think I honestly care what you think of me?” yelled Marjorie, losing her temper.

 

“You might not care what Pansy thinks of you,” said a cool voice, “But do really want our unvarnished thoughts about you?”  The door to the common room had opened without us noticing, and Mary-Lou stood there, flanked by Vi and Barbara and the rest of the form.

 

“I don’t give a damn what you think!” shrieked Marjorie, “You! Pansy! Or this futile school!”

 

There was ringing slap, Esme, who had been fairly dancing with rage, hit Marjory round the face.  Marjorie was so shocked she shut up.  There was a deathly silence.

 

“Well,” drawled Vi, “I think that has been a long time coming.”

 

Marjorie being Marjorie, was not silenced for long.  It was not for nothing her closest friends described her as one of those Chinese dolls, the harder you knocked her down, the quicker she got back up.  She turned on Esme like a rattlesnake about to strike.  However before she could say a word, there was a rustle of starch, and Matron landed in the middle of what was about to become a free for all fight!


	20. Chapter 20

“What is going on here?" demanded Matron, in such direful tones that Marjorie was silenced, Esme burst into tears and Mary Lou was left mouthing like a stranded codfish. Matron glared round at as, "Well? I asked a question and I expect an answer."

Somebody had to speak, but nobody seemed keen to volunteer, so it fell to me, "We were... um... just... well...um... discussing our plans for the evening..."

"And do your plans involved a boxing match?" asked Matron with a sarcastic inflection which even Miss Wilson couldn't have bettered.

"Um... No..." I replied quietly.

"Mary-Lou!" Matron snapped, "Perhaps you can give me your report as form prefect.

"It was as Pansy said," replied Mary-Lou cautiously, "There was a disagreement and..." here Mary-Lou tailed off, it was clear she was reluctant to explain what happened next. A glare from Matron forced her to continue, "Marjorie was rude about the school and Esme slapped her," she finished rapidly.

 

A look of surprise flitted over Matron’s face, but all she said was “I was unaware that fighting was on the curriculum here.  Marjorie, Esme, you are both to come with me to see Miss Annersley.  As for the rest of you, I do not expect you will be allowed to go ahead with your evening after this.  Return to your common room and do not speak of this to anybody!” And with that Matron seized Esme and Marjorie by the shoulders and led them away.  We returned in silence to the common room.

What Miss Annersley said to the pair we never knew, but even Marjorie was mildly subdued for the rest of the term and so we managed to get through it without any more alarms.

 

Finally the end of term arrived.  Our trunks were packed and we were on the train heading back to Northumberland.

 

“Thank God! That was the most awful school term of my whole blessed life” said Marjorie as we pulled into the station.

 

“Marjorie!” I cried in horror.

 

However my cry was drowned by a shriek from Esme, “Guy!”, as head of out the window, pigtails flying she caught sight of Guy, my brother Peter and Toby waiting for us on the platform.

 

There was a rapturous reunion, and before long we were in the Manners’ palatial car heading home. I put my head out of the sunshine roof and took a deep breath of the lovely Northumberland air, “Oh!” I cried, “There is the Roman wall! Doesn’t it smell lovely!”

 

“I shouldn’t think it smells at all,” said Peter solemnly, “Those Roman johnnies were very clean.”

 

I dropped down onto the seat, incidentally landing in Toby’s lap! “You know what I mean.  The Swiss air is lovely, but there is something special about the air in Northumberland.”

 

Suddenly the car drew to a halt.

 

“Why have we stopped?” demanded Marjorie.

 

“Look,” Guy pointed out of the window.  There, waiting for us were our ponies; Willow, Dulcie and my beloved Billy, as well as the ponies belonging to the boys.

 

“We thought you might like to ride the rest of the way home,” grinned Toby.

 

“Yippea! Tally Ho!” yelled Marjorie.  She bounded out of the car, abandoning all her belongings and knocking my school hat off my head and into the road.  Within seconds she was on Dulcie’s back and galloped off, leaving as to gape in her turbulent wake.

 

“The Chalet School hasn’t had much of an effect on Marjorie then,” laughed Guy.

 

“Oh it has,” I said as I mounted Billy and prepared to follow after Marjorie, “It will just take a while for the results to show.”

 

And with that we kicked our ponies into a canter and rode home.

 


End file.
